


Willing and Abel

by SmackTheDevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Cure for the Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Shapeshifting, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 01:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmackTheDevil/pseuds/SmackTheDevil
Summary: The Mark of Cain was the worst gift that Dean Winchester had ever been given and there wasn't even a receipt so he could exchange it for a spa weekend.But as with most curses, if you read the T's and C's there are loopholes to be found. Which is lucky because Dean Winchester is about to kill his brother.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a small, not graphic depiction of bottom!Dean in this, so even if one sentence of Dean Winchester being a needy bottom isn't your thing, please do not read on!

For Dean, trying to explain how The Mark feels is like a coroner attempting to verbalize how a two week old corpse smells; unless you’ve experienced it you have no clue. An observer (usually Sam) would perhaps suggest that it itches, he sees his brother scratch it a great deal but he guesses that it’s probably a subconscious reaction to wanting to ‘get it off’ like an old bubble gum tattoo. Scratch and peel until it’s flaking into little pieces. There is no itch there, it feels more like a vice that’s just _got him_. Heavy and unyielding. Weighted. Dean hates the way Sammy looks at him, that concern and the feigned half smiles he gives him. Pity and fear. There are enough shitty things to worry about, he’s fine. He doesn’t like people worrying about him, least of all Sammy. 

There is such beautiful symmetry between Dean and The Mark and really, if he was Cain, he would have wanted Dean to have it too. Dean Winchester is a murderer, there is no doubt about that because there is such a fine, fine line between monster and human. Amy had looked like a human to the man on the street who passed her by; a working mom with a son to care for. But there was that _thing_ , that itch in Dean, ‘Monster/kill’ like ‘Hulk/smash’. It is simple ‘Monster Math’. Switched off, focused, another dead monster and a threat from her off-spring. And of course there will always be collateral damage, it happens. When Dean had fresh lime green eyes and cinnamon freckles for days, before the lines settled around his eyes and deepened in his forehead, he wanted to save all the people. All of them. But no one can do that. Cain was the ‘Father of Murder’ but first he had been a brother and now Dean took on the dubious mantle and he deserved it.

*

Sam’s pity also felt like a vice too, Dean didn’t want that either. Trying to help is a natural thing for them. ‘You have no soul? Okay, we can fix that’, ‘Busted up inside to the point of switching off those machines? No problem, I have an angel for that. Get you all fixed up and pretty again, Sammy’. But this, no. Even Death can’t help nor a rogue angel hitching for a free ride. It was a fleeting thought, so tiny that Dean’s mind barely caught hold of it before it buried itself away. But it was enough and Dean had to go. Far away. He left a note, he’s not that much of an asshole. Dean always writes in block letters. Always.

SAMMY,  
I’M GONE. DON’T TRY AND FIND ME. AND I MEAN IT THIS TIME. LET ME FIX THIS, YOU’VE DONE ENOUGH. WORK, HUNT, DO YOUR THING. LIVE, DON’T DIE.  
DEAN

And then he left Baby in the bunkers garage, covered her over with a sheet and walked. He waited until between 2 a.m and 4 a.m when he knew that his little brother would be asleep. Real asleep, not pretending to be like he often did when Dean opened the door to check on him. He did it more times than he would care to admit. It was quite a walk into Lebanon proper, quiet as a cemetery would be at that time, Dean would know. The innocuous truck he had procured a few weeks previously was sitting parked up where he had left it as a precaution because he hadn’t wanted _that_ to happen but it had and well, that was it. 

THIS IS _THAT_

It had been an ordinary day. Not like normal people have, there had been no pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast, no 9 to 5 to rush off to, just Sammy hunched over his laptop, piles of lore books on the table in the bunkers dimly lit library. So desperate to unshackle his brother from that curse. The first curse, the most pure and base that has ever been. There was no question that Dean wasn’t going to join in his brothers’ quest to save him. But Sam had always been a tenacious little fucker, which isn’t a bad trait to possess unless your big brother is a stubborn little fucker and then it’s like two opposite poles pushing each other away.

“Did you sleep?” Sam’s voice is soft and soothing, he always did that well and it always felt genuine which hurt all the more.

“I got a coupla hours. You?”

Sam shook his head.

“Been up and at it all night, huh?” Dean sat at the table, opposite side with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Yeah.”

“Anythin’?” He asks because it’s expected, no other reason. The Mark is comfortable where it is thank you very much.

“Nothin’.” Lazy grammar for the overtired. 

“Figures.” A slight scoff, then a slurp of coffee. Slurped because it’s too hot but needed. “Why don’t you grab a coupla hours?”

“Maybe.” Sam sighs. “Dean, I’ve been through every book we have.”

“Yeah, you said that last week, Sammy. And the week before that.”

“I just thought I might have missed something.”

“Are you doubtin’ yourself?”

“No but, this is-” He can’t find the words.

“A fuckin’ lost cause?”

Sam slumps back, it was always weird when Sam slumped. Posture of a dancer turned into a defeated, crumpled pile of muscle and bone.

“Don’t say that.” That soft voice. “And don’t say you’re fine again because-”

“Because what, you’ll kill me?” Dean chuckles, it puffs out through his nose. “We know that don’t ever stick.” 

And then Sam went on and on and on. Dean barely got a word in, interjecting Sam’s heartfelt soliloquy with ‘I knows’ and very little else. 

“Shut up!” It was _loud_.

Sam jumped, recoiled into his seat and Dean could see a stressed out vein pulsing heavily in the sinew of Sam’s long neck and he wanted nothing more than to open it. And that was _that_.

“I can’t do this. Not now.” Dean walked away, Sam in his ears begging him to not do that. To not walk away. To stay.

*

_NOW_

Dean drove until he felt tired which is quite a feat for a man kept awake almost constantly by biblical power. It was fine, it was the plan. Drove until he had put distance between himself and Sammy so he could pull over, tear every last sim card and battery from his phone, his other phone, his other other phone and the one that no one should have the number for. He buried them after using a claw hammer to smash the phones to pieces which for a hot minute, no not even a minute, a millisecond he felt The Mark sigh. As if it had just taken a sip of water after being denied refreshment for days. He isn’t going to allow Sammy to call all his phones, nor to track and trace. He’s going to walk off the face of the earth and fall. 

The Mark is hungry, he can feel it. Dean knows what hungry feels like, he knows how to sate it; that sweet moment of biting into layers of grease and protein and how quickly it satisfies him. Easy staving off hunger, human hunger. Bite, chew, swallow. But The Mark magnifies _everything_. It goes beyond blood lust and it’s so fucking clever, more clever than Dean. And it’s there, like tinnitus; ‘go on, I dare you’. Taunting and it’s oh so tempting and he wants it. The Mark and he have become equal, symbiotic and it’s getting impatient with Dean’s humanity. He’s standing on the edge of a precipice with a hand on his back, every day he’s shoved a little bit closer to the edge. Sam had been the final stumble.

He eats at a diner, he’s doesn’t know, somewhere. Doesn’t need to know, doesn’t care. And fuck, the food is good. It probably shouldn’t be. The chef, exposed to customers through a wide open hatch behind the counter looks like he could use a bath or a Silkwood shower Dean thinks. Apron, once white stained with grease and fat around the mans’ belly. But it reminds Dean of the first time he got high and how he had eaten a bucket of chicken from some cockroach infested dive. It had tasted like Michelin star food, it had almost turned him on. And that is the other thing, like there couldn’t be just one thing. No, Dean’s things come in tens, hundreds, four thousand and fifty sevens. Sex. The Mark wants it all, like it knows it’s giving Dean some kind of twisted gift. ‘Here, have this’. Sex has always been his thing. He likes it, can’t think why anyone wouldn’t. But now, he’s beyond insatiable. And he wants more than he’s ever wanted or needed.


	2. Chapter 2

It felt nice. Nice. Polite but not _right_. He usually likes nice. Dean isn’t a rusher when it comes to sex. Not that he’s adverse to a good hard ‘standy-uppy’ fuck in an alleyway but he does like to take his time, odd since Sam often appears to be the ‘go at it’ type, or from what Dean gathered from hearing him through paper thin walls of various motels/hotels over the years. The girl is pretty, auburn hair down her pale back as she sleeps in the bed they had fucked in the night before. Dean got off as was par for the course with sex but it’s still there and he’s really very hard for a man who’s had sex all night. ‘I wonder what her spine looks like’. He told her to go before he found out. It had felt _wrong_ while he had been in the throws. The girl. Georgia? Or something, was pliant and she had clearly liked Dean, not many women who don’t and she had given him ‘the look’. The ‘call me’ look, like Dean was ever going to call. _Breakin’ hearts since 95_. She had felt fragile, like he had been fucking into a wisp of cloud that could have dissipated at any moment. He needs, he doesn’t know what he needs, something more tangible, something with a little give. He does know but he does not want open that can of scorpions but the fucking need is eating into him like a cancer. Sammy. He jerks off in the shower, The Mark is thankful that he’s right-handed. ‘Thank you, Dean’.  
He won’t think about what is likely happening back at the bunker. He knows his brother well enough that right now he’s probably in a flat panic, calling people, calling Cas, calling him. And Dean is wondering just how much farther he needs to drive until he falls off the edge of the earth and how long he’ll fall for. Probably forever. Rather that than tear his brother apart, he’d seen enough of Sam’s blood over the years. Seen it drip crimson through his own hands as he held him against his body, dying over and over. If Sam was there now, he’d kill him, amongst other things. Best to just fall for eternity, it’s the easiest option. 

The ‘idea’ is just that, an idea and it’s beyond fucked up but then Dean Winchester isn’t exactly the poster boy for normality. Never has been. But he’s drunk and Dean needs a lot to get him drunk which is really fucking annoying because it’s not cheap. Beer is like drinking water, wine tastes like piss and vinegar but always really has. The Mark likes hard liquor, top shelf boxed bottles of well-aged scotch. The Mark is a fancy fucker, not satisfied with taking Dean’s body and mind, it wants what little money he has too. It pisses Dean off considerably because when he’s alone with The Mark it’s like having one of those childhood best friends who’s slightly wayward. Encouraging you to do things you wouldn’t normally dream of. Kind of sprite-like and playful. ‘Come and play with me, human boy. Come and play.’ And that’s more fucked up than Dean can imagine because it’s turned into a game. It’s not poke the frog with a stick, it’s splaying it out on a rock and dissecting it while it’s still alive. And Dean is human, he’s not some biblical cunt with a famous mom and dad. Or maybe he is, are John and Mary a modern day Adam and Eve? The ‘first hunters’ with two sons. Even John had warned Dean he would have to kill Sam eventually, he had never imagined it would be anything like this. A modern day Cain and Abel, like some high school dramatization of it. The two most popular boys in school cast in the leading roles. One dies, the other survives. 

And so, the idea. He needs Sam around him but not his Sam, he can’t do that. He’s not that far gone, yet but just enough to tip the scales and he thinks it’s a great idea because it’s going to be like killing two birds with one stone and the best part is, he can do it over and over until God calls time on the earth. _Ding, ding. Last orders please_. His mind is working exceptionally well for a drunk man, The Mark’s letting him because he knows Dean had found a loophole and it’s kind of proud of its protege. It knew he’d be clever, eventually and if The Mark could really talk, was actually sentient, it would be praising Dean to the point of patronization which would piss Dean off even more. If that’s at all possible.

He’s cut himself off from the world and his ties and he knows that the acronym APB has tumbled from Sam’s pretty pink mouth during the past 24 hours. And that Jody Mills, god bless her is out there looking for him. And Cas too and fuck knows who else because Sam’s tenacious and brave and he loves his brother. But Dean has to lie low, he can do that. Baby was usually the beacon, but that pretty little bitch on wheels is tucked up asleep and nowhere near her master. He’s hidden. For now. So how exactly does Dean find himself a willing Shapeshifter? The Mark is urging him to think harder, think like Sam. Use logic, take a step back. Dean stopped using a glass to drink his 15 year old, single malt scotch half a bottle ago. He tried to respect it as he usually would but nah, there is something so brazen about it. An idea to move the idea forward, he can’t keep the feeling at bay for much longer, it’s creeping around inside his stomach and quite frankly, jerking off is getting a little old now. 

Dean has bought a new laptop, just a cheap Asus notebook from a pawn shop he found in some town. He really doesn’t know where he is, he knows that he isn’t in Kansas anymore, it’s just him and the great and powerful Mark. He needs it for the internet, nothing more. He looks inside his wallet, depleted almost wholly. The Mark is a greedy little bitch of a gold-digger. A bundle of bills now down to three or four twenties. Dean might have to hustle a game or two of pool, that won’t take much effort. He’s still drunk from the night before which impresses him to a degree and yes, he really needs to hustle but for now a bottle or two of gut rot should suffice. He might even buy some pot. Might. Maybe. 

Sam, for some inexplicable reason had once shown Dean how to access ‘the dark web’, he can’t remember why. But it must have been important for Sam to have gone anywhere near it, the man who flushes red at even the mention of a simple lap dance. Sam said it ‘could be useful one day’. Dean is pretty sure Sam never meant this. Dean hit the keys as if he were tiptoeing, he didn’t want to see anything he didn’t want to see but there must be some kind of place were monsters converge in the sinister corners of the internet. They’re probably mingling with the mortals too, vampires chatting up teens with promises of Twi-shite romances. Or just monsters like Amy had been, internet shopping for a nice new dress. But Dean is mission specific, he wants niche and he’s found it. He leans back against the headboard of the bed of his motel room.

“I am not drunk enough for this crap.” He waits for Sam to ask why, it never comes. The Mark tells him to fix it.

The web page is just that, a page with the words ‘Pay, Enter, Enjoy’ written across the screen in some horrible Gothic font in a vivid green which isn’t quite neon, above it in red is the web site name in an entirely different but equally ugly font; ‘Date Me, Sate Me’. It is no doubt a terrible name, the website itself looks like something from the dark ages, full of frantically flashing gifs and mismatched fonts in hideous colors. Dean worries his bottom lip with his teeth, catching a few days worth of stubble. He hasn’t shaved since he left. ‘Pay’. One credit card left and Sam was most likely waiting like a sniffer dog for _that_ alert. Use it and move on. A lot of fucking around and three hundred bucks later, Dean’s in and then out of the motel. Credit card is almost maxed out, so he destroys it, throwing it from the window as he drives. He decides to push on, driving is a distraction and he had the nous to grab his box of tapes before he ran. The white noise of Zeppelin. He wants Sam to yell at him to turn it down, he doesn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

“Welcome to Perry, Iowa. Are you here on business?” The woman behind the counter at the first motel he found was beyond chirpy.

“I’m here on ‘mind your own business’.” Dean grumbles, unusually tired but not unusually hungover, drunk, horny, blood hungry. ‘I _will_ kill you’. 

“Your call, honey.” Her smile doesn’t falter once, well trained in dealing with grumpy and fucking rude customers like one Mr. Dean Winchester, either that or she’s just dumb. “Would you like a room?”

Okay, dumb then.

“A room, two nights. Maybe more.” Dean hands over the last of his cash. “Hey, you know any good bars around here?”  
The woman reels off a list. 

“Thanks.” Keys in hand, bag on his shoulder, Dean walks to his room. Nothing fancy, nothing too skeevy. Perfect. He drops his bag on the bed and heads out. The Mark and his new best friend need to hustle. Dean is good at acting drunk, splayed fingers pushing through his thick product free hair, lazy face, soppy grin. He ‘wins’ enough to get good and drunk. He asks around for pot, gets pointed in the right direction. With a brown paper bag under his arm he saunters back to his room, mission in mind. Booze, pot and whoring himself out on the dark web. Chance of finding a willing shapeshifter in Dallas County, Iowa. Low.

Dean’s fingers hover over the worn keyboard of the notebook, little black patches worked into the silver keys but not enough to hide the letters. Dean isn’t great at touch typing and he needs to focus. Has to create a profile. *Information required. It takes a fucking age.

Username: greeneyedmonster79

Age: 35

Species: Human (kind of)

Sex: (Yes, please) Male

Height: Six foot one (and a bit)

Weight: (leavin’ that blank because why the fuck would I need to know?)

Hair Color: Blond (checks in the mirror. Brown? Brown/blond? Dirty blond? Is that gray hair? Fuck)

Eye color: Green

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual (might as well go all in)

Kinks: None

Preferences: Shapeshifter

Dean’s bottom lip is sheathed in scotch infused saliva, his tongue is worrying. Kinks? 

“I don’t know.” Dean glances down at The Mark, he talks to it now. Just once in a while, it’s like a murderous Jiminy Cricket without the jaunty top hat and umbrella. It doesn’t speak back, not like a person would not even like a dog responds to words but it’s in there, inside Dean’s head. Ticking away. _Tick tock, tick tock_. Oiling the stagnant parts of Dean’s brain. Or the parts that are reluctant to start up of their own accord.

‘ _Think, Dean. I need a friend to play with_ ’.

Kinks: 

‘ _Go on, I won’t tell_ ’.

Kinks: Ass stuff

Dean winces as he types, ‘ass stuff’. What is he, 17?

Kinks: Anal play

A shiver runs over his body and it all centers down to his cock, that treacherous bastard organ. Hanging on the outside of his body so he knows what it’s doing. Up and up, twitch and up. It won’t stop dribbling.

Kinks: Anal play; incest role play 

Dean hits ‘enter’ like a flash as if it were to erase away the memory of words just typed. It doesn’t but the screen rolls over to ‘Thank you for your profile submission, now prepare to submit’. Dean chuckles deeply, the rim of the bottle of scotch resting on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dean hasn’t been high for many years, he wonders why it took him so long to reacquaint himself and why the hell he doesn’t do it more because if anyone needs to chill out it’s The Winchesters. Except Sam would be all judgy about it. Dean imagines cooking up a storm back in the bunker, pot brownies. And Sam is going to town on them because he likes Dean’s cooking. Sam gets all lazy and heavy. Horny too, Dean can see it. Every movement, even fabric on skin sets Sammy off and then-

_Ping_

You have one new message from shifty_bitch69

**Why no pic? :(**

Dean jumps as the chime sounds, he isn’t expecting an audible alert but he isn’t entirely surprised since the website was all bells and whistles. He leans forward, Sam’s gone for a moment. His raging boner is getting as restless as the blood lust. Why no pic? Because he’s the most well-known notorious hunter in the world, that’s why. Shifty_bitch69 is impatient. 

_Ping_

**Are you shy, baby?**

Oh, ‘baby’. I am definitely going to murder you now. Dean hits up the profile. Clearly a shapeshifter so what he looks like is of little matter. The Shapeshifter’s kinks are listed as ‘anything goes’. Perfect. Dean replies.

**Where are you?**

**Ames, Iowa, baby. You’re new, algorithm finds locals so you came up first in my search. Wbu?**

“Wubbu?” Dean mutters out loud. “The fuck does that mean.” He repeats the letters over and over. Oh, got it.

**Perry**

**Nice and close ;) What do you want, sister or brother?**

Dean balked at the question even though he was the one who typed in those words ‘incest role play’. Referring to it as role play as if to make it sound less ‘wrong’, like putting hanging baskets of begonias outside a crack house. 

_Ping_

**You there, baby?**

**Yeah, brother**

**Cool**

Dean and his shifty_bitch69 exchanged details, he/she/it whatever only an hour away and fucking keen. But Dean is too and fuck sake he’s going down his bag now sorting through the killing paraphernalia, sex stuff and empty bottles of booze as if keeping them is some kind of testament to his unbreakable constitution as a pro-drinker. So drunk, so high, so horny and he’s preparing to murder his ‘brother’. Just like Cain did but he won’t be because Dean is still Dean and ‘look out for Sammy’ is still his mantra. Dean likes the power in that, The Mark doesn’t but it does enjoy the deception. And killing is killing, almost.  
Dean slides his open bag with a selection of weapons laying neatly against the worn canvas under the bed. There isn’t any Dexter-esque poetry in it, no kill-room and probably the machete could use sharpening and the claw hammer last used to ‘murder’ his cell phones seems really brutal but you don’t inherit a Mark from the father of murder and then try to put reason behind it. Dean fully intends to leave a mess a behind. He wants the blood.

There are two things about Dean Winchester that people don’t know, and The Mark doesn’t count as a person so it’s definitely no one.

1\. He loves his brother; in the Biblical sense. Wants to fuck him. There, it’s been said. And since as long as Dean can remember he’s just lived with it. He’s really good at keeping secrets and about a hundred plus women are proof to that dubious claim, they themselves being a collective dubious claim. He’s not gay. He just loves Sammy.

2\. He fucking loves the taste of blood. He tasted Sammy’s once, by accident. They were sitting up in their twin beds, some motel, some place. Walt and Roy were brandishing shot guns because those meddling kids had fucked something up again and it just meant more work for everyone else. Sam and Dean Winchester; the official ribbon cutters to all things monstrous. Give ‘em an oversized pair of scissors and they’ll open the gate to Hell or let Lucifer out of his cage. Take your pick. Sam had gone first, it was fucking evil. A shotgun that close up, Dean was relatively normal then but before he died himself, his brother’s blood had spattered over him. Not much, just a speck here and there, a drop flicked over his bottom lip, he licked, he loved it, he died. Last thing he remembers.

*

The ‘sex stuff’ is a huge bottle of lube and some condoms, he isn’t going inside a Shapeshifter bareback and he can’t exactly type into Google; can you get still get the clap when you have the Mark of Cain? 

A rap on the door. The Shifter had called himself Ryan but that was beauty of using a Shifter, he could be Tom, Dick or Harry or Sammy for all Dean knew and he didn’t want to know, didn’t need to. 

“You Dean?” Ryan stood outside the motel room under a light drizzle, red neon painting a strip across his face. If Dean was gay he probably would fuck him and kill him as is. Small, cute, blonde.

“Yeah, Ryan?”

“Shifty_bitch69 at your service.” The boy smirked. He looked like a boy, was probably a woman with huge tits at lunchtime.

“Come in.”

Ryan steps inside, then a side step to allow Dean to close the door. Dean’s never paid for sex in his life but it’s a little exciting. He feels The Mark tingle.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a weird mixture of emotions, like putting together a spell. Blood and teeth alongside flower buds and common household herbs but when it all comes together, it works. Dean feels like that now, he’s all jacked up, high, horny, oddly nervous and The Mark is gleeful.

“So, uh. How does this work, you guys need some kind of DNA or somethin’?”

“No, I don’t work like that. I don’t shed my skin. Just a photograph is enough.” Ryan shrugs, steps toward Dean.

“Oh.”

“You don’t know your Shifter lore that well, do you.” Ryan smirks and takes the bottle of scotch from Dean’s hand, he’s been holding it like it’s a security blanket ever since Ryan walked into the room.

“My brother does.”

“Maybe you can ask him all about it in about two minutes. Got a photo?”

“Uh, yeah. In my wallet.”

“Aw, cute.”

‘ _Can I kill him now?_ ’

The photograph is from years ago, taken by Bobby, he thinks. Why would Bobby take their picture? Can’t think about that now. But Sam is _young_ in it, just 23 if Dean remembers correctly. Dean hands the photo to Ryan.

“It’s an old photo, I mean. You’ll be like he was then?” The last word is elevated.

“Yes.”

12 years. It’s a little obscene but it’s beautiful. Dean cocks his head to look at the photo. They’re both laughing, he can’t remember why, can’t remember the last time they had. Not like that. Sam is still Californian honey brown, skinny, sharp features, his hair curling under his ears.

“I’m guessing little brother isn’t feeling it?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Name?"

“Sam.” Dean sighs, it’s heavy and he can feel it weigh his lungs down. “His name is Sam.”

Ryan sits down on the edge of the bed, he offers a hand to Dean.

“What are you doin’?”

“I just need that extra little bit of connection.” Ryan smiles, like he’s some kind-hearted therapist. “Take my hand and sit.”  
Dean isn’t a huge fan of being told but he does it, curls his fingers around the Shifters hand. He sits down.

“Close your eyes.”

Fuck. It’s weird. Magical almost, Dean can feel the change. He can feel the shape of Ryan’s fingers stretching to a more Sam-like length, his palm shifts, undulating against Dean’s and then there’s the smell. It’s unmistakably Sammy. Dean can’t put it into words, the smell of his brother but he knows it.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice, Dean’s hand tightens around the fingers, the fingers he watches strip a gun to its bare bones and dance over the pages of lore books.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Soft and so coaxing. Younger.

Dean opens one eye and it’s Sam. He doesn’t quite know what he’s meant to do now. But it’s shocking, only word for it. Ryan should come with a health warning like a theme park ride has at the at the start of the line ‘You must be _this_ mentally stable to enjoy our ride!’

“I know, just take your time.” 

Dean must have reacted physically to prompt that sentiment. The Shifter is still holding his hand, his left with Dean’s right, he lifts it above their heads and coaxes Dean backward. He’s clearly not listening to his own advice about taking time. And Dean’s complying as ‘Sammy’ is moving over him, broad shoulders blocking the harsh strip light from the ceiling, Dean didn’t think about setting the mood. There isn’t a light setting for ‘kill’. His shirt is lifted over his chest, just high enough to expose his nipples. His nipples are his nipples, someone bit one once, maybe even been sucked there a few times but they are as useful to him as a coffee pot made of chocolate. But this very convincing Sam takes one of the unremarkable nubs between his thumb and forefinger, gives it a squeeze and Dean _feels_ it. There is barely anything to hold onto but it does stiffen, Dean feels that too, it’s tiny but rock hard and it’s being rolled and tugged. ‘Sam’ leans over his body, half of it. He presses a firm but gentle kiss against Dean’s lips, and Dean’s eyes are wide open, he can see the corner of ‘Sam’s’ mouth, his own twitching against the resistance to kiss back. It doesn’t work, he puckers his lips and the kiss is _so_ dry, their lips stick together and ‘Sam’ slowly peels his away. It’s painfully slow, Dean can feel every fine divot and dip, lips still peeling apart and the noise is just deliciously obscene but so simple and Dean’s bottom lip almost bounces as it’s released. His cock throbs so hard, trapped under thick and belted denim that it fractionally lifts his waistband from his belly. It isn’t meant to go like this. Dean isn’t meant feel so much. It’s meant to go like _this_.

_THIS_ – an abridged version. 

Shifter walks in, changes into Sam. Dean is vaguely impressed. He strips shifter!Sam down, slaps a handful of lube over his exposed ass and greases him up like rusted bolt nut, gets him ripped open because he doesn’t want to think it about too deeply. Like that is ever a good idea. And perhaps he gets him begging a little. ‘ _Please, Dean. Fuck me, Dean_ ’. And then gets himself off, balls deep in fake Sam ass until the mewling ‘thing’ is just about ready to come and then he kills him, nice amount of blood pumping from his throat as he’s coming and of course Dean will come too, spunk and blood, nice and messy. But no.

_NOW_

“What are you doin’?” Dean has filled ‘Sam’s’ mouth with a puff of Scotchy breath, it’s hot but kind of like a drunken bum.

“What you asked for, Dean.” ‘Sam’s’ all soft eyes and a large capable hand is wrapped around Dean’s wrist.

Dean is asking what he’s doing and trying to sound mad about it, he could move but he isn’t. He’s not actually pinned down, could get up at any time, pace about the room, pissed off that things aren’t going his way. But he doesn’t because curses like Dean, they love his weaknesses and what bigger weakness is there than his baby brother. All and sundry monsters have told him that over the years. Those speeches that murderous megalomaniacs like to spew because they enjoy to hear the sound of their own voices before they cut to the chase/kill. Fucking, that dude. What was his name? The old looking angel, really hated him. Zachariah, he had said it ‘erotically co-dependent’. Dean had pulled his head back and clutched his pearls at that observation, not that it pissed him off per se but because the winged cunt was right on the money.

“Oh, am I not what you expected, Dean?”

“You’re heavier.” Dean quirks an eyebrow, ‘Sam’ slides from his body, just enough to take the weight off without losing bodily contact. And now, oh God Dean doesn’t want to kill him. ‘Sam’ is still toying with Dean’s tiny, stupid nipple. 

“Don’t you want to play with me?” A pout.

“Sam would never say that.” Dean tips his head back, closes his eyes for a moment and feels the shifter change back. It’s kind of a relief when he sees Ryan, still plucking away at the fleshy ball between his fingers.

“I’m doing my best.” Ryan looks disappointed because let’s face it, Dean Winchester is fucking perfection and Dean is still horny. He weighs the options up. Get laid or send the kid away then jack off to some weird dark web porn. Which is likely to drown Dean with guilt afterward? “Want to fuck _me_?”

“Yeah.” Ugh, Dean hates the sound of his own voice. So needy.  
And so they fuck. Dean hasn’t been around a male ass hole in his life. Only his own and usually then it’s because of three day old burritos that Sam warned him not to eat. And maybe, okay maybe he once or twice stuck a finger up there when he had been really horny. Disclaimer: Purely experimental. Small print: Really liked it.

Ryan is kind of cute, he’s not Dean’s type. They both know that and his ass hole is really tight which Dean enjoys hugely even if it feels like it’s being throttled but on the plus side he’s not a buttsex virgin anymore. The kid seems nonplussed as he dresses, like he’s used to people freaking out because they realize they probably can’t fuck their brother/sister/mother et al when push comes to shove.

“How long are you in town, baby?”

“I got this room for another night, maybe more. I dunno. And uh, drop the cutesy name callin’.”

“Want me to come back tomorrow, Dean?” Message received loud and clear with an emphasis on ‘Dean’.

“Yeah but uh, can you just not do the shiftin’ thing in front of me?”

“Sure.” Ryan chuckled, it wasn’t an unheard of request. Dean opens the door, it’s a little awkward saying goodbye.

“Uh, so thanks for coming over."

“Yeah, maybe I’ll see you again soon, I know you’re seeing your brother tomorrow night, so perhaps the day after?”

“Uh?” Give him a few moments, he’ll get there. “Oh.” Dean chuckles. There it is. “Yeah, maybe the day after.” Dean taps his nose, feels dumb. He closes the door, wonders for a moment if he’s actually gay now. Bi at a push.

Tomorrow he’s going to kill his brother.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Diary_ ,  
 _Yesterday I fucked a boy, and I liked it_.  
 _Best Wishes_  
 _Dean Winchester_

It’s a pity because this happened:

_New message from Ryan_ : **Sorry baby, can’t make tonight. Still want your cock inside me. Maybe tomorrow?**

Dean replies: **No worries, I’ll book another night at motel. D x**

The ‘x’ was an accident. He’s high again, fogging out his motel room with some very nice pot, and he swears he can taste strawberries there somewhere. The Mark is actually itching now like a bastard, craving attention. What more does it need? Dean _knows_ what it needs, what _he_ needs. Drugs, alcohol, anal sex with a monster. I mean Dean is just racking up the vices like pool balls. Pool. Time to hustle.

Dean ‘won’ five hundred and sixty two bucks and took the bartender home with him. Such a slut these days. More than usual but it seems Dean Winchester is getting a taste for cock and really did he actually want to fuck his fake ass brother in his fake ass ass without a little experience under his belt? No. Definitely not. Dean’s latest experiment is called Billy. He’s quite surprised because he does really like him. He’s tall and strong looking which Dean likes, jet black hair, olive skin and deep blue eyes which in certain lights look violet. Liz Taylor eyes. He can drink too and is all butch and manly. 

“You top?” Billy slurs, he’s all thick and strong looking as he lays back on the bed drinking Jim Beam from a bottle he ‘borrowed’ from work. And Dean is slowly acclimatizing himself with the homosexual vernacular.

“Uh.” Thinks. Right. “Yeah.” Dean can’t kill this one either because he likes him, wants to fuck him. Hard. Not kill. And The Mark is playing with him, he knows it. Fucking around with his beliefs and his morals. Turning Dean Winchester on his head and pushing him into a corner, a dark corner which is slowly closing in around him. And he’ll be trapped there. ‘You’re a homosexual murderer now, Dean.’ ‘Thanks?’

“Cool, you look the type.”

Dean takes it as a compliment. He sets the mood this time, abrasive strip lights off in favor of the dim wall lights which sit over the head of the bed. Dean feels like such a perv as he climbs onto the bed, no grace there and his jeans are tenting as he lays back. Billy cups him. He doesn’t ask and it’s kind of nice, big strong hand cupping his bulge. And it’s not cheating on Sam. He keeps telling himself this. He goes off for a moment, his mind plays out a conversation with Sam about his new found sexuality.

‘ _I’m gay_.'

_Sam frowns_.

_End scene_.

Billy is palming Dean’s cock, little grunts escape both their mouths as Dean rocks up into the man’s hand. He has a tattoo sleeve, it’s colorful and intricate. He’s clearly paid a lot of money for it because the work is so detailed and flawless. On closer inspection Dean sees it’s a fleshy mural depicting heaven and hell. 

“Are they-” Dean blinks, runs a finger over the image of a typical looking devil, all red and angry with horns. He’s holding a pitchfork, the prongs are, cocks. “-dicks?”

Billy chuckles.

“Yeah, I mean. Why not?”

‘ _I’ve met the devil and he definitely doesn’t have a pitchfork made of dicks, he doesn’t even have pitchfork_.’ Dean wants to inform Billy. 

“I’ve met the devil and he definitely doesn’t have a pitchfork made of dicks, he doesn’t even have pitchfork.” Dean decides to say for the hell of it.

“That so?” Billy takes it as a metaphor and why shouldn’t he. 

“What’s he like, this devil you met?”

“He’s a cunt.” Dean drawls.

“Sounds about right.” Billy smirks and blindly unbuckles Dean’s belt, he sips from his bottle, sets it down on the night stand to his right. Dean is so high, he’s just letting him carry on, slap of leather where the belt opens, ratchety zipper yanked down. “You’re so fucking hot.” Billy whispers, he straddles one of Dean’s thick thighs, pulls his jeans and boxers down until there’s resistance. Dean is semi-hard, his dick reclines lazily against the crease at the top of his thigh. “Nice.” Dean learns quickly that Billy is not a prevaricator which suits him perfectly. His dick is sucked up into Billy’s mouth and it’s divine, hot mouth that knows what a cock wants. Dean’s legs fall open. He likes the sound of it, barely there wet and sloppy. He can feel Billy’s thick warm saliva dribble over the seam between his balls.

“Dirty mouth.” Dean mutters, deep and rough. He places a hand over the back of Billy’s hair, thick with product and heavily scented with coconut. A tug and then a push against his cock which presses against the back of Billy’s throat. Dean arches from the bed with a visceral grunt. “Wanna fuck you.” The words rumble out from the center of Dean’s chest.

Billy pulls back, leaving Dean’s cock hard and red, sheathed in gloopy saliva. He unbuckles his belt and Dean pushes his own pants down, shimmying out of them and kicking them from around his ankles. He takes off his shirt with one swift, seamless move. The sight of Billy’s beautifully curved cock makes him salivate more than he’s comfortable with, but he’s too far gone. Too far to even think any further than sating himself on that dick, sudden urge to impale himself on it, muddled mind straying so far away from his original plan. Fuck, this is worse than when he was a demon, at least then it had been fucking he could deal with, pussy and tits he knew his way around and for the most part, never felt guilty over but this, this is different. All he can think about it how fitting men are these days, how he needs more than soft skin and curves, the gentleness of girls. Men are rougher, harder and as far as Dean is concerned he deserves it.

And Dean got his wish, Billy gave him a good pounding and Dean Winchester took it all. It hurt like hell but he knew what hell felt like and really, rough anal is like a fucking vacation in comparison. A little aftercare provided by himself after Billy leaves and he’s good to go. That chick, older chick he’d met up with, Tara. Dean has never forgotten what she said ‘If your Daddy could see you now’. And that was just for partnering up with Crowley. Getting ass fucked in a motel room by some random guy? Shit, bad enough back in the day getting caught kissing girls when John was around. Dean doesn’t even want to think about. So Dean gets wrecked and calls Ryan. ‘Come as Sammy, but uh, you saw him in my head, what he’s like now. Come like that.’ Ryan agrees.

Dean has always liked how Sam can fill a doorway. And how much of a fucking badass he is despite having a delicate face. Dean’s got the long lashes and ‘fuck me’ mouth but Sam has always been so fucking pretty. The aesthetically pleasing Winchester’s. Dean wonders if that was some perversion on Chuck’s part, that he had some hand in making Sam and Dean the hot poster boys of hunting, whether he had stepped in and had a dabble with the gene pool just so that that his puppet protagonists were handsome enough to the appeal to the fan girls, and now apparently the boys too. Dean wonders what his face would look like if Cas wasn’t around with his healing hands, their walking talking plastic surgeon keeping them both lookin’ pretty for the ladies. And now the boys.

He doesn’t worry about making the room look tidy for Ryan/Sam. It’s obvious fucking went down. Condom wrappers litter the floor, the lube bottle is slick on the outside, cap flipped and leaking over the surface of the nightstand. Stinks of sex too, Dean thinks it might keep in the mood. ‘Sam’ quirks an eyebrow as he surveys the ‘sex mess’ when Dean lets him into the room, Dean’s too high to care but does notice a slight smirk of approval. Something that real life Sam would never do. Real life Sam would be all judgy and tell Dean he’s gross and to clean the hell up.

“Looks like I’m not the first tonight.” ‘Sam’ says, looking for all the world like Sam but for Dean there is just something not quite right. He wonders if its psychological, that he _knows_ ‘Sam’ is a Shifter.

“Yeah, well since you left me high an’ dry, had to get my kicks elsewhere.” Dean grumbles which he finds hard, because ‘Sam’ is looking fine. He’s wearing that kind of red plaid shirt with the little diamond shaped buttons, his hair is pushed back from his face, curled around his ears. That receding hairline Dean has noticed but never mentioned is on display. Pretty boy, getting older. 

“Not gonna freak out on me this time, are you Dean?” ‘Sam’ says as he pulls off his jacket. His sleeves are rolled up to the tops of his forearms, Dean likes those arms. Always has.

“Nah, I got used to the idea, just needed a little practice.”

“That so?” ‘Sam’ is crowding him now and Dean has just hit a wall with his back. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean kills him and it’s fine because it wasn’t Sammy. He was all _wrong_. He’d backed Dean up against the wall and it just wasn’t Sam. Silver blade in the abdomen, nice and slow so Dean could watch the lights go out. The Mark was kind of disappointed. And so was Dean. 

_THE DAY AFTER_

Dean moved on and bought a burner to call Sam with after he spent most of the day cutting the Shifter up into tiny pieces for no other reason than to appease The Mark. He buried it somewhere, it had looked like Sam and he had mutilated it. Easy.

“Sammy?"

“Dean, where the hell have you been?”

“I need help. I thought I could do this alone and man, I, I’ve done some fucked up shit.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”

“I’ve been kinda goin’ from place to place, lost track of where I am.”

“Dean.” Sam pressed.

“Fine, I’m in Iowa.”

“Specifically?”

“Cresco.”

“Are you going to stay there?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay.” Sam warned.

“Fine.”

Sam fills the door way, as always and flinches when he’s greeted with a face full of holy water.

“Dean, it’s me.”

“Humor me.” Dean flips a silver blade around between his fingers and hands it to his brother.

“Is this really necessary?” 

“Just shut up and do it, trust me it’s necessary.”

Sam slices into the back of his wrist and just as Dean expected he’s clean but he doesn’t even trust himself at this point and Sam is pushing his way into the room, crowding his brother, demanding answers.

“What’s going on, why did you bail?”

“I got some stuff goin’ on, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know but you can’t just walk away from it. And I guess since you called me, you figured that out for yourself.”

The questions and accusations are riling Dean up but not as much as the smell of his brother is or the presence. _That_ had been what the Shifter had got wrong, even The Mark had known that. Knows it now as it starts to tingle and Dean is covering it with his hand as if Sam can see it.

“I don’t know what the hell I’ve figured out.”

“Well, it’s not The Mark, Dean. You still have it.” Sam states the absolute obvious and Dean’s eyes roll so hard they tickle the inside of his eyelids.

“Actually, I was able to track down a ‘Lasik Off Your Murderous Biblical Mark’ clinic, I’m on my way there now, heh.”

Sam is unmoved by the attempt at humor as he usually is when Dean is trying to make light of the end of the world or some such other impending disaster they constantly find themselves in the center of. And now Sam is sweeping the room, looking for clues as to what Dean has been up to. Dean feels like a kid having their bedroom inspected by his Mom (a normal mom) and he’s standing by the front door still, looking sheepish and guilty. The latter being his constant companion.

“Have you been smoking?” Sam lifts a blunt from the ashtray and sniffs it. “Pot."

“Yeah, and?”

“Nothing.” Sam shrugs and even that annoys Dean and then Sam sort of shakes his hair and sniffs, like he’s so high and mighty and has never been an addict in his life. 

“I figured I kind of have a pass.”

“Why, what makes you so special?”

Dean thrusts his arm out, or does The Mark do it? Like his arm is a big veiny divination rod and it’s wanting again and reminds Dean that he can’t outsmart it. That’s Sam there, that’s your brother, not some cobbled together version to outwit what The Mark and Dean _know_ they need.

“What’s going on?” Dean hasn’t even answered the previous question and Sam is just reeling them off. “Have you been having sex?”

“Woah, woah, okay. Firstly. I don’t think I’m anythin’ special but I do have kind of a situation goin’ on here.” Dean thrusts his arm at Sam, Sam opens his mouth and Dean holds up a warning finger. “Don’t you dare. Secondly, nothin’ is goin’ on.” Of course he lies, it’s their _thing_. “And yeah, I have been havin’ sex. You sound surprised, it’s kinda my thing.”

“With guys?” Sam has a wristwatch hanging from the tip of one of his fingers and for a hot second Dean wonders if it’s ever been inside his own ass hole. It’s also ‘Sam’s’ watch and Sam hasn’t noticed which kind of pisses Dean off because Sam is usually so annoyingly astute.

“Yeah, as it happens.”

“Why?”

“You know.” Dean is bounding toward his brother, going for the watch which Sam snatches away behind his back. “If you want to ask any more questions you’re goin’ to have to write them down. Gimme that.” Dean reaches behind Sam’s back and fucking hell, the smell of Sam has Dean’s cock thickening in no time. 

“Talk to me, Dean.” Sam’s all pleading and the worry in his voice goes straight to Dean’s cock because it’s the nurture and caring that turns him on. Mommy issues? Oh, no don’t open that can of worms. 

“Got nothin’ to say, Sammy.”

“The Mark is changing you.” Even Sam’s voice is working, soothing strains wrapping themselves melodiously around Dean’s stiffening shaft.

“No shit.” Dean huffs and snatches the watch from Sam, his belly is pressed against Sam’s left flank and Dean _moans_ which he turns into a cough. “Of all the crap we’ve been through, this is by far _the_ most fucked up of them all.”

“Is it?” Dean picks up a little bitterness in Sam’s voice.

“You want a ‘Which Winchester has had it worse’ contest, Sammy?”

“Maybe if we talked, I could help.”

“Not with this.” Dean takes the blunt from the ashtray and lights it, Sam wafts away the plume of smoke that rises from it but sits next to Dean regardless. “It’s not like I’m shooting up, stop being such a pious twat.”

“Twat?” Sam’s lips twitch with amusement.

“Crowley.” Dean mutters. 

“Talk to me. Let me help.”

“Not high enough.”

Dean gets high and Sam gets dopey on the fumes, dopey enough to realize that finally giving in and having a hit or two from Dean’s spit soaked blunt is like sucking on a lollipop compared to drinking demon blood straight from the tap. Dean has never seen Sam high before, drunk yes. Drunk!Sam comes straight out of a bad YA novel or so Dean believes. Full of angst and man tears. High!Sam, giggler.

“The Mark wants me to kill you.” Dean just comes right out and says it because Sam is as high as a kite and you never know, he might find it funny.

“Makes sense, since Cain _did_ actually kill his brother.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

The Mark is pissed off because it starts stinging like a mother fucker, wasn’t expecting Dean to breath a word. And also Dean has the most beautiful boner too. It feels lovely and it’s achingly hard, and Dean feels all thick and heavy. And every time he moves. the button detail on his boxers rubs against it and he could probably spill if he rutted enough. 

“You wanna know what I did?” Dean’s smirking and Sam has gotten a taste for the pot and his fingers are levering the short blunt from Dean’s. 

“What did you do?” Sam’s smiling and he doesn’t do it enough which is a waste and like the sun hiding behind a dark storm cloud constantly. ‘ _God, you’re fucking beautiful, Sammy_ ’.

“I paid a Shifter to look like you so I could fuck you and kill you.” Dean watches Sam’s face and yeah, it’s probably the most fucked up thing either of them have ever done and Dean’s just sitting on the edge of the bed with his brother, confessing and Sam is like:

“That’s weird.” 

“I thought so.” Dean’s plain about and Sam is thankfully a lightweight when it comes to narcotics and he’s either taken it as a joke or doesn’t really care. “Want a drink?” 

“Sure.” Sam coughs a little but smokes the blunt right down to the roach and throws it in the ashtray or somewhere. He takes his jacket off and Dean leans backward over the bed to grab a bottle of something brown and cheap. He’s all stretched out and his massive erection is tenting his jeans which is quite remarkable since denim is famously unforgiving but Dean could hammer nails into a brick wall with his penis right now and he’s not sorry about it. Sam looks. Who wouldn’t. “Was I any good?”

“Wasn’t you, couldn’t go through with the sex.” Dean says after swallowing a mouthful of whiskey. He passes the bottle to Sam who nods and takes a sip himself. It’s horrible alcohol but he necks a few more gulps.

“Is it The Mark telling you to do it?”

“Half and half.”

“Which half is you, and which is The Mark?” Sam’s smiling and his pretty nebulous eyes are shot with red.

“The Mark wants me to kill you, I want to fuck you.” Dean chuckles really loudly.

“That’s gross.”

“It’s really not, I dabbled in some brother on brother foreplay day before yesterday and it was fuckin’ awesome.” Dean kind of lies. It was confusing and weird but with real Sam, the idea is potentially awesome.

“You’re disgusting.” Sam sniffs, more offended about the sex than the murder. 

“I could rock your world.” Dean smirks. Used that line a few times and ‘won’. 

“Really?”

“Are you doubtin’ me? I’m really very good.” Dean grins. “Nine out of ten women agree.”

“And what about the men? I mean, Dean. You’ve always been a bit homophobic.”

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

“I ain’t.”


	7. Chapter 7

Within the fog of their second joint, Dean tells Sam _everything_ , mostly everything. How The Mark is still thirsty for Dean to kill and is Sam specific about it and how his sex drive is now way beyond anything he has dealt with before. Before it had been about collecting orgasms by way of therapy. They always felt good but Sam was disinclined to hear the details from his brother as to why. ‘Suckin’ on a nice big pair of tits’, ‘Eatin’ pussy out until my mouth aches’.

“Dean, gross. No.” Sam’s pulling a face and really doesn’t want to hear it. He’s always been that way, knowing Dean puts it about is enough, the details he can do without but oddly, not _all_ the details. “What was I like?”

“It wasn’t you, I couldn’t do it.” Dean says, repeating what he had told Sam earlier, it had been an honest reply. Kind of.

“But really though. What if it _was_ me?”

“Huh?” Dean passes the second blunt to Sam and he feels fine, beautifully beautiful and lays back on the bed to really feel it. ‘ _What a fucking perfect ceiling (brother)_ ’.

“Maybe The Mark is bluffing.” Sam’s voice is a whisper and feels as if it’s miles away, in reality it’s moved closer and he’s laying next to Dean who _still_ has a gargantuan erection.

“Explain.” Dean’s still admiring the ceiling even though Sammy is just right there, smelling like he’s been stuck on a stick and being sold as a carnival snack.

“Okay, so get this.” Never change, Sam. Never change. “Maybe it’s not expecting you to actually go through with it. Sex with me, I mean, not killing me. Don’t kill me, De.” Sam’s voice is a whisper and he’s laying one hand over The Mark as if to cover up it’s ‘ears’. 

“I ain’t gonna kill you, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is a thick sexy drawl which hasn’t gone unnoticed by Sam who seems to be _flirting_ with Dean and apparently calling him ‘De’ now. “It’s why I bailed, sweetheart.” And so is Dean.

“But what if.” Sam props himself up on one elbow. “The only way to get rid of The Mark is to do the opposite of what it expects. What if just because Cain murdered Abel, it expects you to kill me in the same way but-” Sam holds up a long finger and Dean all but leans in and bites the air around it. “- we ‘kill’ The Mark by being loving and not hateful. We make love. The Mark dies.”

“Sounds a little flowery to me, Sammy. Heh.” Dean says gesturing with his hands because what else is he gonna do with them. “Make love. What, are you a menopausal woman now?”  
Dean smirks and doesn’t realize that his dick is alive with interest and nudging inside his ‘ _denim prison_ ’. Now that _does_ sound menopausal. “You ain’t worried I’m gonna murder you?”

“I can defend myself, De.” Sam flicks his hair back haughtily and Dean is looking at that long neck, it’s all sweaty and his Adam’s Apple looks delectable and there is no irony in that.

“It’s incest.”

“Do you think we’re wandering about in the realms of normality now? Or ever come to think of it. After all that you just told me, Dean.”

“I guess not.” That is yes. “Do you even know what you’re doin’?” Dean is watching Sam’s fingers work his belt which slip/slap opens and gives Dean a modicum of relief. His cock almost sighs with him.

“I have one too, De.”

“I can’t ever imagine you jackin’ off. I mean, I know you do because I used to hear you back in the day but these days. I don’t know. Do you jack off?”

“Of course I do.”

“That’s weird.” Dean really does think it’s weird to think of Sammy jacking off in his room to whatever he jacks off to. “What do you jack off to?”

“Stuff in my head.”

“Oh, it figures that you’d be ‘one of those’.” Dean smirks.  
“Porn is fine. But it’s not everything, De.” Sam’s up and he pulls Dean’s pants down his thighs which kind of get stuck around the bend and swell half way down. “Shut your legs.”

“Funny.” Dean’s voice is flat and there’s humor there but Sam is being too clinical about all of this. The Mark is never going to believe them. ‘ _Okay, Dean. I’ll let you fuck me by way of experiment and if it doesn’t work we’ll never speak of it again. But I will be in some kind of therapy for the rest of my life_ ’. King of Lovers Dean Winchester takes over. “Mind if I butt in here?” 

“Oh, no of course not.”

“C’mere. Lemme kiss you.” 

“I don’t know.”

“Yes.” Dean’s reached up and his pants are halfway down his legs but he’s trying to be seductive. ‘Trying’. Lol. Sam leans down and Dean kisses him, on the mouth. And his dick goes _crazy_. It pumps out a huge stream of pre-come and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d swear it was spunk. Luckily, Sam kisses him back and it doesn’t feel like ‘just trying something’, it feels right. Why does it feel right?

“It feels right.” Sam says after pulling away just a fraction enough to speak. “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah you do, you lying little shit.” Dean drawls and pulls Sam back down and they kiss forever. And Dean is trying to ignore The Mark which is fighting back. ‘ _Hey, Dean. I killed my brother, not kissed. Huge diff_.’ It is stinging and begging and Sam was right on the money.

It’s all heavy panting and wet mouths as Sam pulls away and Dean can feel his dick against his thigh. Or his phone. No definitely Sam’s dick. Sam Winchester’s huge cock is hard for his brother. 

“Your dick feels huge.” Dean says as he watches Sam stand up who is insanely high and stripping off his clothes and all Dean can do is lay back and watch and do the same because why the hell not. Sam is leaner these days. Skinnier and all sinewy muscle and hard bones and fucking lovely. “Your dick is huge.” Dean mutters as his own thick offering hovers hard and heavy over his stomach. 

“I’m six foot four, my body to penis ratio is normal.”

“Did you look that up?”

“Yes.”

“Nerd.”

Sam kneels at the edge of the bed and grabs Dean’s ankles and drags him down until he has big brother thighs around his waist and big brother big balls smooshed up against his stomach. Dean feels like they’ve been the size of baseballs of late, they haven’t but not far off. Sam lays a hand over Dean’s cock, the heel sits at the base and his fingers curl over the head, tips dancing over the slippery slit.

“This for me?” Sam asks, lifting his fingers, tapping them against the head of Dean’s cock, pre-come stringing and pouring out like there is some kind of faulty leak.

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice is raspy because Sam is being hella seductive and it feels like more than ‘Let’s do this crazy thing’. Sam licks his fingers and Dean groans. “Don’t tease me. Is this what you do with chicks, because it’s little wonder they don’t hang around for seconds.” Sam never answers because his mouth closes around Dean’s cock and is sucking him off slowly. It’s like he’s done it before.

“Oh fuck, yeah. You done this before?” Dean mutters, one hand moving over Sam’s head. Sam winks. “Oh, the ‘stuff in your head’. Shit, pervert.” Dean hisses because Sam has his entire cock in his mouth and it feels perfect. Sam hasn’t got a small mouth and it’s not like Dean’s cock is _that_ thick but it looks like Sam’s mouth is stretched and stuffed full of it. Saliva is leaking from the corners of his mouth and it could be bad technique but it’s clearly working because every time Dean’s cock throbs, Sam rolls his eyes and sucks on it like it’s a pacifier. And the whole thing is making Dean feel _dirty_. “Yeah, that’s it baby boy, you suck it like that.” 

Sam rolls his eyes again but for the other reason. No but seriously, Dean is in that mindset where a person is so magnificently turned on that they will do _anything_ and that includes muttering clichéd ‘porn praise’. And he’s trying not to think about why Sam is so suddenly on board with all of this because it’s clearly a conversation best set aside for the therapists couch because Sam seems to know what he’s doing and Dean can’t figure out whether Sam _has_ done this before or if he’s just really quick on the uptake. Whatever it is, it’s good and the view is spectacular if not a little odd. Sam Winchester is not a small man and yet has slotted between Dean’s legs as if they have been cut out that shape to fit him exclusively and _that_ thought gets Dean’s cock pumping. Dean allows his mind to go silent and it’s like The Mark has been rendered mute with the shock of it all. He can hear the sucking sounds, and hollow swallows and the occasional squeak of trapped air. And Dean is breathing steadily but really loudly punctuated with soft exhales of approval that are hard to put into words. It is hands down, the best blow job Dean has ever had. And it’s not the weirdest thing the Winchester Bros© have done. They’ve both died and magically come back to life, so this is entirely normal. 

“Don’t make me come.” Dean’s voice is heavy, sounds weighted and thick. Sam pulls off and Dean is enraptured as his cock just slips, wet and diamond hard from his baby brothers’ mouth.

“Why, don’t you like it?”

“It’s awesome, Sammy. I mean, you have some great skills there that I probably shouldn’t know about.” Dean lifts his head. “How can you do that so well?” The question is fired out like a bullet, almost an accusation. 

“Stop talking.” Sam moves over Dean’s body and there is a lot of him and his hair isn’t as long as Dean likes it. But Dean likes it because it kind of keeps Sam looking young and cute and vulnerable. He grabs a handful and tugs his brother down for a kiss. And, it’s still not _weird_.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean likes kissing someone he already loves, likes kissing his brother because it feels like home and it’s not some cheap thrill to keep the monsters at bay. It’s a keeper. Sam is a keeper. Always has been, always will be. Sam is pliant and warm, he smells familiar and it’s comforting and if Dean wasn’t so turned on, he’d cry.

The Mark is sitting in the corner of Dean’s mind with it’s armed folded like a scolded child. Dean isn’t playing fair and The Mark is bored and Dean doesn’t know but it’s fading. He doesn’t know because he has his hands are full of chestnut brown hair, strands wrapped around his freckled fingers and the pads are damp with the sweat that is sheathing Sam’s scalp. Even Sam’s excessive sweating is sexy because it’s his and it smells beautiful. Sam is a great kisser, more aggressive than Dean would have given him credit for but at the same time, gentle. Sam Winchester is a conundrum.

“Wanna fuck you, Sammy.” Dean’s lips are open and pressed against Sam’s mouth, they’re all spongey and soft and Sam responds to the intimacy of swallowing Dean’s words with a liquid roll of his sharp hips.

“Yeah.”

“I can?”

“Yeah.” 

Dean doesn’t particularly want to break the contact between them and for a hot minute Dean wishes that Sam has a self-lubing pussy that he can just slid his dick into him right there and then.

“Wish you had a soft, wet pussy.” Dean mutters, Sam gasps and Dean feels the heat of embarrassment from his brothers cheeks.

“I’m so fucking high, De. I’d do anything you tell me.” 

“Is that so? I never had you pegged-” Dean smirks at that word. “-as a submissive.”

“I’m not, but it’s you, isn’t it.”

“Is it?”

“Dean.”

“That’s me.”

Sam isn’t just doing it to outsmart The Mark, he really wants it. And it’s not as if he’s being walking the earth with a longing boner for his brother since he was old enough to get one. He is now because it’s all fallen into place in the strangest way and yet it still feels right and normal. And it’s not like when you see creepy relatives on daytime TV talk-shows who wax lyrical about their incestuous relationships while shocked audience members look on in disgust. This is love at its most pure. How is it wrong for two blood related souls who both survived Hell to join together on earth, biblically and bodily. In their world, there is no such thing as eternal damnation. Hell fire has burned around them both and it hadn’t stuck. The Winchester’s aren’t going to be ‘sent’ anywhere for this. 

Dean has Sam sprawled across the bed diagonally, legs open, and up. He’s smothered in lube, even his neatly trimmed pubes are thick with the stuff and probably somewhere down the line Dean is into ‘erotic massage’. But more to the point, Sam is open and ready. His ass hole is winking at Dean like the gate to Heaven; only ‘dick’ allowed, Dean Winchesters’. And also, Sam is not being shy about it and seems to be quite relaxed and very into it and they haven’t even done anything yet. But Dean loves the way Sam’s sac feel against his abdomen, like two large round balls of caviar ready to pop. Sam has shaved those too and Dean’s impressed with how his brother looks after himself. ‘Came home with vamp guts on me last night, but when I showered, I still had the inclination to manscape’. Dean takes it slow, because Sam is an anal virgin and his cock softens as his ass hole swallows Dean’s glans because it _is_ quite bulbous and stretches him beyond what he was expecting.

“Closer, De.” Sam wiggles a long finger at Dean, who almost expertly bottoms out as he leans over Sam’s body which arches up. His tiny ass presses hard into the bed and his back does this ‘dancery’ thing and Dean thinks he looks so pretty even though really he’s a Sasquatch. They’re nose to nose and very intimate. Not ‘I’ve got your intestine in my hands intimate’. Been there, done that. The Mark is quiet. Silent and if Dean were to tear his eyes away from Sam’s beautiful face for just one second, he would see that it is fading some more. No one said anything about killing monsters and evil things with incestuous anal. But okay. It’s more than that and the boys know. Dean is balls deep and kissing Sam painful slow, punctuating the act with hard rolls of his hips to keep himself hard because the kissing is so distracting, he keeps forgetting where his dick is. They also both know that in the ‘Winchester Brothers Wonderful World of the Weird’ that they have crossed a point of no return. And being high doesn’t mean either of them are out of their senses and will wake up the next day thinking ‘Did we fuck last night? Because man I won’t be able to look you in the eye until we both bite it.’ No, this is wanted and needed and it’s beautiful. Sam _is_ beautiful. Sammy.

“Never really realized how pretty you are.” Dean’s voice is deep, demon!Dean deep but also thick with lust, not murder.

“Shut up.” Sam sounds more like Sam as he speaks.

“Ain’t lyin’.” Dean says, mouthing over Sam’s lips, hips rolling in a circular motion which has Sam’s eyes rolling around in his head like the Wheel of Fortune. And the view is probably pretty spectacular too.

Sam is sheathed, smothered in sweat and he’s berry brown for some reason. His ankles are crossed and his legs are hugging Dean’s back, one heel pressed into the divot above his brothers ass crack. Sam’s hands are splayed and flat across Dean’s back and Dean is muscular of course but it’s not like, ‘I work out every day’ muscular. More like ‘I’m reaching middle age, I run about a lot with guns and shit but I am partial to the odd daily cheeseburger.’ Sam thinks he feels lovely, all soft and warm and fleshy. All thick body and intention. And while Sam may be an anal virgin, he’s certainly more experienced than Dean usually gives him credit for but there is something about Sam that makes Dean feel as if he’s a virgin all across the board. Dean is a famous slut, Sam can be too really. Difference being, Sam keeps his conquests to himself. Mostly. 

The pot is working wonders for sensitivity and longevity. Dean is ridiculously hard and turned on and the both of them are making the most needy ‘Oh fuck is this really happening’ noises that would make a porn star blush. For a solid hour or so, they make love. Just how Sam wanted but it wasn’t what he had been expecting. Every brush of fingers, every soft kiss felt like it was going to result in an orgasm. Neither had known a build up like it and neither wanted it to end. Even Dean had managed to keep his mouth shut for one hour, 12 minutes and 45 seconds. Until.

“Oh fuck, I wanna come but I don’t.” Dean spoke into Sam’s open mouth which when they weren’t kissing was in a constant ‘OH FUCK’ shape. Eyes to match. Sam swallowed them and they rumbled inside his body and made his heart stop, skip then beat at a stupid fast rate.

“Same.” Sam breathed. An educated man, a learned man, a true Man of Letters fucked dumb by Dean Winchester. How lovely. And the initial discomfort of having his ass hole stretched had evolved into sheer pleasure that he was having trouble understanding. 

Dean’s knees were beginning to go numb and so he shifted just a touch to relieve them. Sam lifted his gorgeous rump from the bed, made a sound akin to that of an animal in heat and shot his load between their bodies. It went _everywhere_ and as a result he clamped himself around Dean’s cock and that was the end of everything. Or the beginning. Dealers choice. It’s the longest and most intense orgasm of Dean’s life and he won’t/can’t stop and can almost feel his nuts empty and shrivel up like raisins. The noises that come from the Winchester’s is ‘glass against the wall’ stuff and doesn’t stop until they’re both utterly wrung out, twitching and taking it all in.

“I love you.” Dean says it first and it is truly, truly meant in every sense of the word.

“I love you too.” Sam says it second and it is truly, truly meant in every sense of the word.

“I _really_ was going to kill you.” Dean is thumbing one of Sam’s nipples and admiring the chest hair. Sam is a man, not a boy any more. Took a round of incestuous anal for Dean to figure that one out.

“I know.”

“How?”

“Kind of goes with the lore, De.” Sam is feeling Dean’s back with the tips of his fingers, Dean thinks it feels lovely.

“Nerd.” Dean looks up at Sam with green, white and red eyes. 

“Hot nerd.” Sam blushes and Dean’s cock twitches. How, he has no idea.

“Stop it.” But Sam lifts his upper body so Dean can really get a hold of him and then he sees it. Or rather he doesn’t. “The Mark has gone.” He whispers because saying it out loud might bring it back. It’s a stupid idea but then so is fucking your brother to get rid of the damned thing in the first place. But then, they live stupid lives anyway.

“I don’t want to look at it.”

“It’s not there to look at.”

“Are you sure?”

Sam just nods. And Dean pulls his arm from under Sam’s body and he’s right, it’s gone. Dean would cry if he weren’t who he is.

“So, what now?” It’s not awkward asking that question. But Dean needs to know.

“We carry on. And we keep _this_ a secret.” Sam whispers seriously.

“Well, duh.”

“Amazing. ‘Well, duh’.” Sam smirks. “Do you want to do it again?”  


"Only if you ask that again. But ask it properly.”

“Dean, would you like to fuck again?”

“Well, duh.”


End file.
